


Light of Kingdoms

by Cucuxumusu



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragon AU, Eventual Smut, Fae AU, Healer Ichigo, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic drama, Nature, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shirosaki assholeness, Soulmates, War-Military
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29558697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cucuxumusu/pseuds/Cucuxumusu
Summary: Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, Dragonclaimed, is sent to the north to control a possible Fae revolt. The mission is of the utmost importance, but Grimmjow, after so many battles, is starting to break down. Ichigo hides a big dangerous secret. He had spent all his life hiding in a remote part of the world working as a healer, but all his peace ends when Grimmjow Jeagerjaques comes to ask him for help. Will Ichigo be able to help the man without revealing his own secret? Can Grimmjow overcome his own demons?
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques & Kurosaki Ichigo, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Kudos: 38





	1. The creation

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a bit more personal than the others I have written since it is based on my country and personal likes, it is also my return to my fave genre, fantasy. However, before reading, read the tags, know that the characters don't belong to me, and that any resemblance with reality is a mere coincidence, don't practice what you see here at home, and be concious that English is not my mother languane nor am I a profesional writer so you will encounter mistakes.
> 
> Thanks and welcome, I hope you enjoy this.

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a powerful goddess who birthed four children. The four powerful children soon grew into strong men and women, and when they were old enough, the goddess gave them each a gift and a kingdom, so they could prosper and fill the still empty world with their descendance and family.

The first and eldest son was gifted with an immortal lifespan and pure _magic,_ and for centuries he ruled over nature and the wild places, until his time came to join his mother on the other side. His descendance were the Fae, a race of beings who soon divided themselves among courts and harsh hierarchies, and whose princes and nobles were known to be as wicked and cruel as handsome and fair were their faces.

The second son, proud and violent, received the gift of _flesh and claws_. The shifters, his arrogant descendants, were a race that ruled over the beast and creatures of the land, for they were beings of two faces, two forms, and two loyalties, and the beast inside them were mighty and powerful. As their father, they prided themselves on their strength and military might, and soon became the best warrior among the four kingdoms.

The only daughter of the goddess was different from her loved boys. Intelligent and powerful as her mother, her gift instead was a more subtle and priced talent. She and her daughters, the witches, guarded the ancient _knowledge_ of the world, they spoke the sacred language of Ulrna, and knew of secrets no other race could understand. They ruled over cities and the dark places of the world where the secrets are hidden and the schemes began.

The fourth and smallest son of the goddess however was not gifted with anything but his life. He possessed no magic, no strength or sharp knowledge like his brothers, and because of that, he was mocked and tormented by his kin. As a result, the humans, the fourth son’s spawn, soon became peons and slaves of the other more powerful races. Abused, used and murdered as if they were worthless, this weak race was unable to fight and defend themselves and their lands against the powerful gifts of the other races, and with time, they grew poor, scared and miserable.

It was upon seeing the suffering of her smallest child’s children, and upon hearing their desperate pleas, that Ulrna decided to give birth to a fifth son. This fifth boy remained hidden and unknown for centuries, slowly growing in power, slowly learning, and like his brothers before him, also giving birth to a new race of creatures to fill the world. Dragons were creatures no world had seen before, they were another form of nature, the strongest and mightiest of all the beings of creation. They also _loved_ humans like none of their brothers had done previously, and took upon their hands to free them from the elder races’ cruel hands.

Their war for freedom lasted for decades.

Finally, desperate in their seek for victory, and knowing they will be killed shall they not prevail; the dragons and humans birthed the Dragonclaimed using ancient magic and the help of their caring mother. This new race mixed the best of the two younger brothers’ gifts into one sole bloodline, weakness and strength, the two opposites and complementary forces that made a new creature the likes of which had never been seen in the world.

This new race annihilated the Shifters mighty and strong armies in mere days. The witches retreated quickly after hearing of the massacres, for they knew what had happened, and that there will be no victory on their part. They formed weak alliances with the new Dragonclaimed King who had raised among the blood-soaked battlefields, and then hid scared among the ruins of their destroyed cities waiting for their time. It was the Fae, to proud and sure of their mighty, who lastly faced the new King and his army in a last attempt at regaining the old ways. That last battle pierced the land and made even Ulrna cry holy tears upon the destruction and lives lost, but at the last end, the sons of the eldest child were defeated and made to hide away in their ancient forests.

And so started a new era with no kingdoms and races and divisions, just one sole land under Ulrna watch, with no slavery, and pain and cruelty, for the two youngest’s brothers kin were kind and wise. The time of the humans begun, and for years there had been no whisper of magic on cities, no enchantment over a cauldrons, or a howl at night to remember the other races. But things are beginning to stir deep in the shadows, old powers are beginning to wake, and the peace might not have been as permanent and absolute as some had wished for it to be.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimmjos keeps on being stubborn, and ignoring the clues. Ichigo says goodbye to a dear one and mets a pretty new interesting person that might change his life.

.......

The nights at the Northern Stronghold were as cold as night had been told to be in the days of old, before Ulrna had created the blazing sun. There was not snow, wind, nor rain needed to achieve the effect over the lush land, just a deep-frozen coldness that permeated the walls of the castle and filled the bones of its inhabitants. The silence felt also unnatural on its long crumbling corridors and patios. A deep eerie silence filled the castle in the darkest hours of the night, as if the long-abandoned building still wanted to remain in solitude and away from the human world.

This new land he had been given to rule over was full of live and dark secrets. The wide sparkling lake with it it’s river, and the acres of untamed forest were so beautiful and full of magic he felt overwhelmed by it sometimes. ‘The shire’ was an old land who had seen eras pass without ever needing changing its landscapes and wilderness. There was something sacred and dangerous here, between the trees and deep in the springs of the mountains. Too much life. Too much old magic. It woke memories in his mind of other times, opened old scars with its shadows and secrets, and made a part of his sleeping mind wake up, once more.

The nightmares came to him as the silence on the world deepened. _Her pleading screams. The blood. On the ground, on his sword, on his armour. The hundreds upon hundreds of bodies_. Crude and violent. One after the other. A never-ending circle of screams, blood and burning raging fire.

It was in his own mind, alone at night, where he was stripped of everything, and was left bare for his ghosts to attack him for hours. He had no power in the nightmares to fight back, no way to stop them from shattering him. In here, alone and haunted, he just revived his darkest memories again and again and again.

Until he couldn’t stand it up any longer and, as it has been happening for months, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, Dragonclaimed, and Lord of the Northern reaches, woke up screaming.

For a moment he blinked confused into the dark cold room not seeing it. He looked at the door. Safe. At the windows. Safe. _Her screams. The blood dripping and dripping. The hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of bodies engulfed in a silent red fire._

He roared to the darkness. Hating the panic that suffocated him. Hating his own weakness. Pulling his bedcovers -silk and soft expensive furs- away from his soaked body, he stood up in a furry of motion and walked into the night and towards his balcony, his mind not rational under the visions, his power pulsing anxiously inside him, eager to consume and shatter and regain _control_.

This time, with a roar of pure desperation he let it burn.

Light poured over the room as the consumed fire on the hearth of his room flared back to life. The windows cracked. The tapestries on the walls, pieces of art depicting the emerald forest of these land, started to burn eagerly, the furs on the bed, the marvellous carpets on the floor, the furniture of deep dark wood…all licked and consumed by his violent fire.

But the darkness and panic in his veins didn’t subside despite the sudden warmth and light in the room. Grimmjow picked his chamber pot and smashed it against a crystal mirror with another scream. He picked his books on his bedside table, maps and stories of this new land he had been reading, and teared them apart with his blunt fingers. He then saw his sword. Dark metal devoid of any elegance. He flinched as, again, reality and visions mingled in his head. He smirked crazed. Metal that didn’t break, didn’t burn, it killed and killed without ever soaking the blood. He picked it with a fevered need, and then, laughing, he begun smashing and breaking the shelves, and the table and a chair. Destroying his room with an unchecked violence, needing to find a way to take it out, to free himself, to stop thinking and feeling and remembering.

Finally, on his most maddened moment, she came. With a small candle in hand, her hair in a tight braid for sleeping, and bare feet over the wooden floor.

And just like that, Grimmjow could breathe.

As he lowered the sword, she walked into the room dodging the black patches where his fire was now slowly dying. She was wearing the same military pants as always, black and worn out, and a shirt that was way too big for her little body and revealed more skin that was appropriate. But Nelliel had never been appropriate. She kept on refusing to wear dresses, no matter how many Grimmjow brought her.

He loved her.

She walked towards him confidently, not even flinching or concerned about the destruction around them, the sword in his hand, or the crazed expression he surely had on his face. Nelliel was never afraid of him no matter what Grimmjow did. That thought calmed the panic inside him a bit more for some reason. So when she finally put a hand on his cheek in a comforting gesture, Grimmjow could close his eyes and finally take his first gulp of air.

Focusing, regaining control over his body and mind, concentrating on the contact, on the now, on the woman that his dear little sister had become. She was so pretty, she looked more and more like their mother these days, with her green eyes and her green hair. Despite the scars, despite the lack of dresses, she was one of the most beautiful and powerful woman Grimmjow had ever meet.

The worry in her deep green eyes however kept on growing as the days passed.

“Nightmares.” she whispered in the silent night, conscious that even in the silence and so far away from the war, there could be eyes behind every wall. “Again.”

Grimmjow pulled away with a grimace, let his sword fall to the ground, and sat himself in the destroyed bed just breathing. He finally suffocated his fire and again plunged the room into darkness, Nelliel’s little candle way too weak to illuminate the whole space. The bedroom, once fit for a king, with hight ceilings and coloured crystal windows, was now a smouldering ruin, the furniture useless, the decorations and art wasted.

“It is nothing.” He snarled. “Just dreams.”

She pursed her lips. “You hadn’t had a good night of sleep in months, Grimmy. It’s. Getting. Worse. You _need_ to see a doctor.”

Again, that crazy foreign idea. Grimmjow had refused it on spot when she had proposed it a few days ago, and would do so now again. Seeing a doctor meant that something was indeed wrong with his mind, that these…visions, fits of anger, irrational panic, were signs of his mind slowly breaking, and Grimmjow _refused to acknowledge it_. He had survived it all, he had overcome it all, defeated every enemy and came up the victor. He won’t accept this last blow after all of it, he won’t accept what this all pointed to.

Because it will be the end.

“ _I am fine_ ,” He repeated, way too harsh to his own ears. He took a breath. He needed to convince Nelliel. “It’s just the new environment and position.” An unconcerned shrug. “It will go away in a few more days.”

He stood up however, unable to keep still as tension gripped every muscle. He looked at the door. Safe. At the window. Safe. At his sword. _Blood dripping of it_. Flinched. Cursed. He turned to the destroyed bed. He won’t been be able to go back to sleep now, nor he wanted to. He had begun to hate the nights and kept on trying to stay awake for as long as he could to prevent exactly this kind of thing from happening. But it was fine. He was fine. He had way too many duties to attend to anyway.

“Grimmy.” Concern in her voice, but Grimmjow ignored it.

Instead he picked a shirt from a surviving chair and wiped the swear from his brow and neck. Then, he walked around Nelliel to the burned wardrobe and begun searching for more surviving clothes. He needed to pretend everything was fine, that he could function. But as he searched, his eyes purposely ignored the hundreds of scars covering his whole body, his callused hands, his muscles forged in the bloodiest war the world had seen.

After a moment, he finally heard Nelliel leaving his room with that worried look probably still in her face. Grimmjow ignored it and kept on pulling out clothes. He ignored way to many things these days, he had become and expert on denying and pretending everything was alright. But it will be fine, he was strong, he will get over this, just needed to keep moving forward, kept on working, and all will be fine.

Completely dressed now as the Lord of the Northern Stronghold, and the Dragonclaimed he was supposed to be, he walked to his studio.

It was still dark. It was still cold. _So damn cold and silent_. The staff of the castle had not yet woken up, and his steward will take even longer to approach him today after they discovered his burned and destroyed rooms. He will scream at them later to show them how fine he was. Because it was fine. He just needed to keep working, kept moving.

_He was fine._

…oOo…

The sun was barely beginning to rise over the mountains when movement begun on the little mountain cottage. The little house was nothing as big as the castle a few miles away with its thick stone walls and battlements, nor was it as humble as other houses on the nearby villages. It was just the perfect house for a doctor. Built with circular round walls, a couple of floors, and several rooms to sleep and work, it provided enough space for treating patients and also living. The garden and orchard around them were lush and well cared for, and in consequence the scent of the medicinal herbs growing in it perfumed the whole air around the house on warmth days.

It was a peaceful place, set apart from the world, the noise of the cities, and the wars on the south. This place seemed to be eternal. A place of healing and growing, without violence or suffering.

Ichigo Kurosaki loved his little house. Not only because he had been living in it since he remembered and had learned to love the garden and forest around it, but because it had also belonged to a mother who had passed away years ago. This house had been the last gift from his only known family, and Ichigo treasured it every day. The house was old, generations old, but it still held cheerful memories and a warmth he hadn’t been able to find elsewhere.

The man near the door also was a dear old acquaintance.

“When will you came back this time?” he asked carefully, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned on a table, just having woke up with the noise the man did.

The blond man turned from the door and smiled at him. His usual smile, fond but sad, like a big brother’s or a father’s resigned smile. Not that they even called each other on such terms. It was a thin line they hadn’t dared cross ever. Not even after his mother died and the man took him under his wing as his pupil to take care of him. They always called each other by their names, formal and distant.

“A week.” Urahara said, putting a weird hat on his head. “Maybe two.”

Ichigo studied him from his position. He was wearing his long green coat too, the thick old one that helped him disappear between the tress and wilderness. That meant he was going north, not south. To real Fae land. He tried not to frown at it or comment anything. Ichigo never asked about his travels, and Urahara Keisuke never spoke when he went north.

Another secret deal, another delicate line between them.

He had taught Ichigo all he knew about medicine, keeping up with Ichigo’s training after his mother, also a healer, had died when he was barely ten. He had brought him weird books from far lands, he had demonstrated surgeries, he had explained some herbs properties no one else seemed to know about. Thanks to that deep and rigorous training Ichigo had become one of the most famous doctors of The Shire.

However, there was always an aura of secrecy around Urahara. Sometimes it looked as if the man was not only versed in medicine, but also in other fields. He kept helping the farmers with their fields when there was a particular harsh season, or had helped train in the sword the child from the Uryus so he could enter into the Castle’s guard. However, he had only taught Ichigo medicine. Yes, he had cared and looked after him all these years until Ichigo had become an independent young adult. But only that. Never a hug, never an explanation for his sudden travels that could last for months, never anything else.

Ichigo had been fine with it. When he had been young, he had asked about it, but the old man changed his story every time. He had been a knight, an ambassador, a wizard, and a spy, all within a couple of months. Ichigo had given up on knowing what he did long ago. He had accepted the strange man into his life, but there were still times like this when he just _wondered_. No one sane enough went to Fae Land if they wished to live. So, who was he in reality? What did he do? Where did he find the books or earned the pouches of gold coins he returned with?

Urahara finally picked up his travel bag, his old walking cane, and opened the door ready to leave him behind once more. Ichigo followed him outside, shivering a bit at the cold morning.

“Do you have everything, old man?” he asked casually, stopping the door from fully closing behind him and the warmth from inside to escape.

“Yes.” Urahara again said turning towards him with the cryptic smile. “What about you? Do you need anything?”

“No” Ichigo answered with a shrug. He was still finishing the last book the man had brought him a month ago.

Urahara chuckled. Then leaning in, and griping his neck, he gave him an awkward kiss on the forehead as he always did when he left. No hug, no tears, just a kiss the kinds any mother would give his child, but much colder and weirder. The first times, long ago, Ichigo had cried and clinged to the man, now however he just glared at him frustrated. He had stopped being a child long ago.

Urahara however only turned with amusement in his eyes and that fondness, and with a last farewell, he took the northern path into the forest.

Ichigo stayed by the door for a long while staring into the distance where he disappeared. Just observing the nature around the house come alive under the first rays of sun.

The forest around him was stunning and even older than the house he lived in. The land of the Fae, Urahara had told him when he had been an excited child and he listened with wonder the fanciful stories. Now however he faced the lush land with a more realistic and careful point of view. Oaks, huge looming chestnut trees, and a few tall pines grew strong and mighty hiding the few creatures and birds of the place. 

Beautiful but dangerous.

Nature however was still awaking after the last days of winter, the cold temperature preventing the plants from fully growing. His own garden was still fighting the cold temperatures, his orchard asleep, but Ichigo still watched the cold eerie beauty for a moment as the sun travelled up the sky. The night’s frost melting on the leaves of the plants, the first chirp of the birds as they woke, the sky turning from a deep orange into a light blue…

He sighed feeling troubled. It was still too early for his patients to come visit him. The Yasutora man would probably come to have his cast removed, and the mother of the Sarutobi girls will want more eucalyptus oil for her rheumatic hands. There will be the typical injuries of the farmers too, back pain, some accident with some tool, but nothing he hadn’t fixed before.

Ichigo entered back into the warmth of his house resigned to come back to his duties. There were always so many things to do, so many routines to keep performing in his humble life. He looked at the empty house, at the silence, another season, another bunch of patients to take care for.

With no excitement, with no adventure, or epic fight that changed the world.

 _‘But it’s better this way._ ’ Ichigo reminded himself as he always did when such thought sprouted up. Peacefulness was better than any kind of excitement, it brought less problems, it kept people safe.

Approaching the window covered in delicate lace curtains, Ichigo picked the first of the crystal jars and bottles illuminated by the raising sun. Almond oil infused with deep orange calendula’s flowers. Ichigo uncapped it, smelled the content, and checked the colour against the light. It wasn’t yet ready. Putting it back he picked another bottle, then turning, he went back to his work room to begin today’s preparations.

…oOo…

The sun was hight in the sky when Grimmjow walked into the training ground in front of the castle. He had spent hours riding in the nearby fields with his black stallion feeling the air in his face and nature awake with the new day. Then he had been training in his own quarters for the rest of the morning, working his body until the tension had faded from his muscles and his mind had relaxed into the known calming routine. He felt exhausted, barely functional, but his mind was empty, calm, and he finally felt centred enough to face his duties.

Grimmjow had been assigned to assess the troops and resources available on the Northern region. Rumours had begun stirring in this part of the kingdom. The Fae assholes, who had been hiding in the nearby forests for a decade had begun showing their faces again, and Aizen wanted to put an end to any kind of skirmish before it could escalate into a real conflict. They all knew that with the long drawn out war already happening in the south against the last of the shifter forces, they couldn’t afford another front. Grimmjow needed to put an end to this quickly and forcefully.

Grimmjow had already assessed almost all the troops the place had, and the weaponry available. It was all a piece of shit. The Northern Stronghold had been left abandoned for decades while the war raged on the south, and in consequence there wasn’t much left to use. The few weapons left had no edge and were mostly outdated by years, the metal and wood from the assault weapons and bridges were also rusty, and the soldiers and commanders had grown lazy and old with the years of peace.

They had begun training the men back into shape a couple weeks ago. A strict merciless schedule with new routines and fresh people. It would be hard months, and most of the new recruits will leave altogether, but it was a necessity. Grimmjow remembered those first months in the army as a living hell himself, but they had set the base, and given him the strength and discipline to face what would come later.

The patio he walked into, was one of the places they had arranged for the training, and one he had already spent hours shouting orders. It was small space however, so they had also installed some war camps outside the city for the training in battalion and war tactics, but all that would need to wait before the new recruits knew how to hold a blade. A group of soldiers were already doing a few basic routines and sparring with the long wooden blades with no sharpness to them.

The place made the tension return to his body with vengeance. The shouts of men, the smell of sweat and leather, and the nerves in the air, it all threatened the peace he had managed after his own training. He frowned and clenched his fist hating it all. _He will overcome this_. Clenching his jaw, and squaring his shoulders, Grimmjow approached a group of a half a dozen of nervous soldiers already waiting for him in the middle of the patio.

Nelliel was in front of them with a scowling face and a pristine black uniform that hugged her curves like a lover. Always the perfect stern commander, she had probably been interrogating them when they had returned to the castle. She looked at him from head to toe as he approached, a question in her eyes.

He nodded exasperated. _He was fine!_

Turning he faced the sorry group with annoyance in his eyes. This battalion had been patrolling the border with the Fae, deep into the surrounding mountains, and had just returned to the castle to receive the news that they had a new lord. A Dragonclaimed.

They all looked at him with and almost palpable awe. As it should be. Symbols were important in any army, and Grimmjow, as Dragonclaimed, was the man everyone looked up for. He had also changed his clothes and wore his uniform for this sole purpose, showing them the capable and lethal commander they all wanted to see: the black impeccable new clothes, the blade shiny but clearly used, his hair styled back to make him look tougher... A danger to consider. The pride of his people.

With his role in mind, and knowing what needed to be done, he looked at each one of the men in the group in the eyes, and as always, none of them were capable of holding his gaze for more than a couple of seconds. The soldiers on the south had managed a few more moments, but they all always ended up lowering their gazes. Dominance, position, another way to establish the hierarchy in the army and the power dynamics that would then be indispensable during war.

Nelliel rolled her eyes. Grimmjow ignored her.

He was beginning to remember the speech he had memorized years ago in his mind when he had started working as a commander, when his eyes finally felt in the young boy at the back.

Barely a man, the boy was in a sorry state, as if he had needed to fight while in patrol. The front of his shirt was covered in blood, brown and dried, and he had a huge cut on his forehead that had been quickly and messily patched, which would leave a scar. His eyes were vacant, empty, probably battle shock or trauma, if not both. He was just so young. He shouldn’t have been allowed into the patrol, but with the Stronghold being so sort of men, they probably hadn’t had another choice.

And then it happened.

One second, he was looking at a young soldier covered in his own blood and pain, and the next he was in the middle of a battlefield.

Corpses were _everywhere_ , surrounding him, stretching for as far as he could see. Their blood kept on feeding the already soaked ground and making the fight slippery and difficult, and the smell of it, putrid and rancid was making his eyes water and stomach turn. But he just couldn’t stop moving, because the moment he stopped, he died.

A soldier crossed his path wearing the colours of the enemy, red and brown, although the insignias were so soaked with blood it was hard to recognize them. Grimmjow didn’t think, not after so many hours in the chaos, he just swinged with his blade out of instinct, his body moving without conscious thought, and the enemy crumbled to the ground to accompany the other corpses.

It was with a second glance, as he was turning away to follow more shouts, when he realized the soldier had been barely a boy, too young and too unprepared to face a battlefield, and even less a Dragonclaimed like he was. Blood fell from his slitted throat. Thick and warm. There was wild panic in his eyes as he spasmed in the last moments before death. A terror so intense it made Grimmjow terrified himself. He gurgled on his blood, tears falling, hands gripping the bloodstained grass with broken nails.

The thought finally reached his violence numbed mind. He had killed him. He had killed a child.

Grimmjow blinked and the injured boy was staring at him still with those dead eyes. They had been the same age. Past and present mixed, and suddenly Grimmjow couldn’t breathe. Guilt choked him. Hard and fast and with no escape. He had done this. This was his fault.

_He had killed a child._

The façade he had so carefully maintained crumpled, and he doubled over in pain with a horrified roar a ring of red deep fire appearing around his feet as an answer. Nell was instantly by his side, touching him, helping him anchor into the present as they had discovered she could do when the attacks had begun.

It didn’t seem to be enough this time.

Instantly she pushed him away from the group of shocked soldiers who had stepped back several paces and were staring at him horrified. The traumatizes boy just stared, unseeing, only moving as the others did. The chaos and shouts in the patio stopped paralyzed, confused.

Grimmjow flinched realizing what he had just done.

Nelliel however quickly pushed him aside, grabbing him by the arm and making him move, until they stepped into one of the weapon store rooms away from the terrified glances of the soldiers. Grimmjow knew he was done. He had managed to keep these attacks a secret from the army until now, he had fooled Aizen and the others into believing he was okay. He had believed it himself despite the nightmares, despite Nell worried glances, he had thought he could endure all of this, but there was no more faking it.

He had a problem.

He had seen it before, soldiers that got paralyzed in the middle of battle, like the child outside, traumatized for life, seeing things that weren’t there, screaming at night terrors, and flinching at the slightest sound. The soldier’s curse. Those men and women were normally pulled out of any army, too dangerous for themselves and for the people around them. You couldn’t trust a man who would suddenly freeze in battle. You couldn’t trust an exhausted man who will suddenly began to fight visions.

But if Grimmjow got pulled out of the army, if he had to say goodbye to the fights and Nell…what would he do? He had nothing else. He had been born for this.

He crumpled to the floor of the little room. His knees giving out, his strength leaving him, his vision growing darker as the panic attack grabbed at him with strong hands.

Nelliel instantly knelt in front of him and gripped his face between her hands making him look at her. “Breath, Grimmjow.”

“I fucked up” he said between gasp and grunts, unable to process her words, unable to breathe. “I’m done. I am so royalty fucked.”

“You didn’t do anything, we will invent some excuse. But you need help, dear.” She said slowly. “I _am_ finding a doctor for you.”

 _No!_ _A doctor meant he was injured, that he hadn’t survived, that he was done._

“No, I’m…I-” Fuck. _Fuck!_

“Fine?” She looked at him from head to toe with an exasperated worried look. “You are not fine Grimmjow Jeagerjaques.”

He saw it then. The finality in her eyes, the worry, the fear for what was happening to him. She won’t back down from this. He had worried her enough. He closed his eyes and leaned his head down into her shoulder. He was done. Too broken to keep on fighting and commanding armies. He had been broken for so many years, but they had been pretending. His life had just ended.

“We will fix this Grimm,” Nell again said hugging him against her body and petting his hair as she had done when they had been kids. “It will be okay.”

Grimmjow just tried to breathe between clenched teeth. In an out. Slowly. He felt his life slipping from under his feet and could do nothing. He was powerless once more. Because no matter what Nelliel said, he had seen it many times on the battlefields. There was no cure for the Soldier’s Curse. It was only a lie. A long horrible illness that consumed soldiers under they inevitably died.

…oOo…

The sun was beginning to set behind the mountains, when Ichigo closed his little clinic for the day. He begun to prepare for the night, closing windows and doors, as the last patients finally disappeared down the road. The newly parents had come late on the afternoon, all worried when a hard rash had appeared on their little baby’s skin out of the blue. Ichigo had played a bit with the little girl to check how she was growing, and then, assuring the hysteric parents everything was fine, he had instructed them on how to properly care for a baby delicate skin.

Now, with the deed done and the settling sun painting his home with a deep vibrant orange, he tidied up his table full of books, ingredients, bottles full of powders and liquids, as well as the bowls and mortars he had wasted and dirtied thought the day. The room he used to attend to his patients was the biggest one of the house and also the one filled with the most furniture. It had two sofas along a chimney, and low and hight tables, as well as shelves and different trunks where he stored all things necessary for the consultations. There were books on every surface and shelve, and plants both dried and alive, hanging from the wooden beams or the wall, his jars, bottles and utensils filled the rest of the room, with the cauldrons pilled on a corner, and a little basin full of water from the well another.

He had a secondary room, brighter and devoid of so many things where he performed the surgeries. That room was meticulously cleaned each week, and could be easily transformed into a bedroom for the gravest patients. His living quarters were above it all, on the second floor, just a couple of rooms, one for him and another for Urahara, with even more books, a couple of trunks for his clothes, and an old big copper basin for sporadical baths.

Everything humble and practical.

He was cleaning the dirtied bowls a thinking about what he could make for supper, when he heard a pair of horse hooves approaching the house despite the late hour. Ichigo frowned at the sound. Not many people had horses on this place of the world, they were expensive, and many had been recruited for the war to never been seen again. Horses therefore were only used for emergencies now a days, to deliver important news, or for the rich to parade about.

Ichigo set down the wasted bottle of honey he had been cleaning, wiped his hands on his shirt, and with curiosity, he stepped outside into the blackening world to receive the strange rider.

It wasn’t what he had been expected.

As the brown horse approached, Ichigo saw a woman of deep green hair masterfully riding it, and blinked surprised. She was beautiful, probably one of the most beautiful females’ Ichigo had seen in his life, her figure lush, her hair a cascade behind her. She was also a curious one since she wasn’t wearing the dresses woman favoured on these lands nor any dress at all, but a black uniform Ichigo recognized instantly by the insignia on her chest: A roaring dragon. Aizen’s army.

That made him pause cautiously by the door, his hand grazing the hidden knife under his shirt out of instinct. He had patiently heard the tales that a few of his patients had told him about a new lord finally arriving on the castle. The people had been mostly hopeful that someone will finally be able to manage the land and return it to what it had once been: one of the most prosper lands on the kingdom. However, despite the general excitement, some of them had also talked about a famous Dragonclaimed arriving along it all.

Ichigo had dismissed that last idea with a laugh at the time. There was no Dragonclaimed in the north, the five of them were all fighting in the south against the last of the shifter armies. There will be no reason for any of them to come here to this forgotten peaceful land.

However, as the pretty woman dismounted before him, Ichigo begun to doubt himself. What if it was true? What if they had come? The way this warrior carried herself, tall and confident, her black clothes pristine, and her colouring different from anything on these lands, spoke more than anything.

“Are you Ichigo Kurosaki, the renowned healer?” She asked as an introduction, tying the horse’s reins to the small wooden fence surrounding Ichigo’s house.

Ichigo nodded still trying to decide how he should act around this woman, if he should attend her at all or subtly dismiss her. What could this be about? It was clear it wasn’t the urgent matter Ichigo had been expecting, otherwise they will be already riding back to the castle, but still, it had been important enough that the woman had come -in what had to be a half-a-day ride form the castle- to see him.

However, as the woman approached him, he noticed the kind of urgency and desperation in her eyes he had been expected. There was a problem and Ichigo was needed. As a doctor that’s all he needed to know. He lowered his hand from his knife without her noticing anything.

He smiled at her, but she only stared back.

“I need to talk with you.” She said as if giving orders to the soldiers she clearly commanded. “In private.”

“Of course.” Ichigo answered easily, his bright kind and fake-smile never falling, opening his door further and signalling to the interior of his house.

The strange female entered Ichigo’s house and quickly assessed everything with a glance. Ichigo saw her eyes instantly fall to the windows and doors, a soldier assessing a new unexplored territory and looking for dangers. Ichigo knew it was an ingrained routine for them, built after years on the battlefield, but still wanted to chuckle. What was supposed to attack her here? The scented oils?

He however had been instructed from a young age that he needed to treat each patient with care and understanding, it was an essential part of being a doctor. So Ichigo signalled her to the two big padded sofas near the hot fire where a tea pot was already boiling and prepared from the previous patients.

This part of every patient visit, sitting down and learning about their problem, was almost a routine for Ichigo now, and a thing his mother had taught him was important. If the patient was nervous or hysteric as the couple of parents had been, Ichigo would prepare some calming tea, linden or pennyroyal to calm them down. If they were distraught of shy, Ichigo will give them the spiced teas and take his time talking and getting them to properly explain the problem. Of course, there were times when the situation was just to urgent for the ritual to be performed, a woman giving birth or a heart disease wouldn’t wait for the tea, but that was okay too. It was the fascinating thing about medicine, how every patient and situation was different and needed a specific treatment and ritual from him.

Ichigo observed the soldier woman trying to gauge her mood. She however was hard to read, she sat straight in the sofa, with a neutral face that Ichigo knew she had trained years to master, and with surprise, Ichigo realized _she_ was even assessed him, as if Ichigo was the one with the problem here.

Ichigo decided on the relaxing tea.

Adding a few more leaves to the pot before taking it out of the fire and serving two cups for both of them, he sat on the opposite chair next to the beautiful woman and finally spoke.

“So,” he asked curious despite it all. “what is the matter?”

The woman shipped at the burning tea probably used to eating fast and quick without waiting for the food to even cool down. She instantly frowned at the taste, but after a while she took a deep second gulp, the warmth almost a luxury in this spring weather.

“Well, it is not me but my brother the one with the problem.” she finally confessed.

Ichigo rose his eyebrows. “And why isn’t _he_ here himself?”

The woman huffed as if she was wondering at it too. “He is being difficult, you see. He is denying everything and pretending he is fine.” She rolled her eyes and made a gesture with her hand. “You know how men are.”

Ichigo had no idea how men were, but nodded, nonetheless. “So…his problem?” he pushed.

The woman took another drink from her teacup and readjusted herself in the seat. She was nervous, clearly uncomfortable for needing to talk about this. She kept frowning and looking at everything but him. Ichigo smirked leaning back on his sofa. He had picked the right tea.

“Before I speak,” the woman finally said, finally meeting his eyes to give him a pointed dangerous look. “you have to swear to keep the things we are about to talk completely secret.”

“I always keep my patient’s privacy.” It was one of the fundamental rules between doctor and patient.

“Yeah, I know, but this is different, he is not…” she stopped, frowned again, and looked at him for a long moment. Judging if she could trust him. She finally groaned. “Look, the men I’m talking you about, _my brother_ , is Grimmjow Jeagerjaques, the Dragonclaimed and new lord of this land.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Fuck. So, this was Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck? The sister of the man, and the famous intelligence commander that had helped win innumerable battles. Oh dear. So, the fanciful tales of a Dragonclaimed arriving at this goddess-forgotten land were true. Fuck. This changed things. This…this could destroy everything.

Ichigo blinked at the woman who was still staring at him intently. It was only by sheer will that he managed to keep the neutral bland face that any doctor had while treating his patients.

He however took a long drink from the calming drink. Urahara was going to be mad when he heard about this.

“I see.” he finally managed to say. Then he tried for another bland and pretty fake-smile. “Still, as I said, no matter who my patient is, I will keep their privacy. I made an oath for it as a doctor.”

The woman didn’t look convinced but relaxed once more into the chair seeming to have come to terms with Ichigo’s role in this...thing, whatever it was. Her thin callused fingers however caressed the rim of the teacup in a comforting gesture she didn’t seem to notice.

“The problem?” he repeated slowly.

“Right.” She coughed. “He…He has the soldier’s curse.” She finally confessed in a thin voice, as if she was scared of even mentioning it out loud.

Ichigo frowned at the name of an illness he hadn’t heard before but gestured for her to continue.

She reclined in her seat even more and looked at the ceiling, tension in every gesture.

“It begun a few years ago after…a special bloody battle. He began having the worst kind of nightmares, shouting and screaming. He also sometimes spaced out in the middle of meeting or meals. At first it was nothing serious, we all had nightmares sometimes, right? Or we daydream about stuff. But as months passed it started getting worst and worst. The nightmares happen now every night, I believe they are also getting more intense, or at least that’s the effect they had in him. He also spaces out for hours now, and he had also begun having this…anger moments where he goes mad and… It’s draining him day by day; I can see it.”

She passed a hand thought her hair in a nervous scared gesture. Ichigo served her more tea, and with a thankful smiled she picked the warm cup and leaned towards him, with her elbows on her knees, continuing her explanation as if giving him a confession.

“We have seen it happen to other soldiers; you know. But I never paid it much attention until it begun happening to Grimmjow. The doctors in the south had apparently been studying it for years. They told us there is no known cure for it, that’s why it’s called a curse, you see. But here, in the north, with the Fae and their magic so close, your customs are different and I thought that maybe…”

Ichigo thought about it. He had never heard of “ _The soldier’s curse_ ” but it sounded a lot like what happened to traumatised people. He guessed that in the middle of a war, one that had been going on for a decade, and with such poor medical conditions, it will be normal for soldiers to succumb to their terrors. Furthermore, with no proper help and having to revive the trauma repeatedly, battle after battle, it was no wonder the nightmares would drain any soldier and made them eventually succumb in a battlefield.

But here, away from it all, things were very very different.

“If it is what I believe he has,” He said carefully. “there is a…cure. But I am not yet sure. Until I see and talk to him personally, I won’t be able to properly diagnose him. He should have come himself.”

Just with those words hope bloomed on Nelliel’s face, a hope and happiness so big not even the mask she wore, all powerful and professional, could hide it. It made Ichigo pause.

“I have to see him.” He repeated as a warning. “And even if it _is_ what I believe, the healing process will take time.” It won’t also be the kind of ‘healing’ any of them will be used too. Mental injuries were tricky to address.

The woman however stood from her chair and nodded with that bright hope still in her eyes.

“Of course, Of course. I will drag his stubborn ass here if needed, but he _is_ coming here, I swear it on the five sons” Ichigo, despite the situation, felt an amused smile spread on his face.

No matter how much she tried, Ichigo guessed, a Dragonclaimed won’t come here unless he did want to come here. Yet the woman spoke of him with a fondness frustration only a sister could muster. Unmovable object meeting unstoppable force, he guessed.

This will be interesting.

Rising from his chair too, he accompanied the clearly excited woman again to the door and the now dark and cold night outside. It was tricky to ride at night, even more in the forest, but as she fetched the horse, she didn’t seem the least concerned by it. A soldier from the south. If the stories were true, they faced all kinds of hard training and this probably meant nothing for her.

“He will come here tomorrow morning,” she repeated. “I promise.”

A smirk tucked again at Ichigo lips at her confidence, but it soon vanished into shock when the girl turned from his horse, walked towards him and engulfed him in a deep crushing hug. A long one.

“Thank you.” she whispered in the moment, the mask crumpling to show way too many emotions.

Ichigo hugged her back. Then he shook his head fake-smiling, whispered a few comforting words he used with patients, and after she released him, he watched her mount the huge brown horse. She disappeared down the path moments later, leaving him alone once more in his house.

Ichigo stepped back into the warmth of his room and closed his door once more while assimilating the whole meeting. He had a new patient. One of the five Dragonclaimed in existence. A legend. A myth. Probably an asshole too if the stories were to be believed. He smirked excited. Then cursed to the south and back.

Urahara was _killing_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A hysterical man with traumatised mind is no basis for a system of government. Grimmjow is 28 in this story, Ichigo 20, just so you all know. Hope you liked this begining.


End file.
